


Only Of Its Own Ache

by Snottite



Category: Nuclear Summer 1997 (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Sex, Choking, Hate Sex, I hate these tags have fun everybody, M/M, the sex is bad the relationship is even worse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 00:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20416679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snottite/pseuds/Snottite
Summary: i am sorry. no one should have to see this.





	Only Of Its Own Ache

A knock at the door jolts him out of fitful, half-conscious rest.  
Gabriel drags himself into a sitting position, pushing aside the motel bed cover (somehow, always heavier than anywhere else) and crumpled sheets. He spares a glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand (just past two AM., the numbers a wavering red) and gets up to open the door. The room is small, but Gabriel is a cautious man, and the few steps it takes him to cover the distance across the cheap, carpeted floor is enough for him to be fully awake, alert and uncomfortably aware of the cold sweat beading across his back and making his shirt cling to his skin. He rarely sleeps well.  
The motel he- well, _they_\- were spending the night at hadn't been chosen until the last moment, so Gabriel isn't particularly worried about any actual danger as he opens the door. Well, not completely _un_-worried, but- not enough to bother digging out the gun he has stored, carefully locked away, at the bottom of his suitcase. Besides, most unwelcome intruders don't usually _knock_.  
MacCready, as it turns out, does.  
"Jesus Christ," Gabriel says, the words out of his mouth before he knows what he's saying. "You look like shit."  
For once, it's not just an empty jab. The man looks genuinely horrible. Gabriel is always surprised by how... deceptively _normal_ he looks without his signature glasses, but in the pale, yellowish light bleeding in from the motel corridor MacCready's face is gaunt and exhausted, the beginnings of creases in his forehead and at the corners of his lips cut into the skin in the sharp contrast of deep shadow. Gabriel feels a twinge, just for a moment, suddenly and painfully aware of the deepening lines in his own face.  
MacCready's eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, and Gabriel wonders if the man's been crying. He immediately hates himself for wondering. _So what if he has?_  
"What do you want?" He asks flatly.  
MacCready's gaze darts back out into the hallway. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even further than it already is. He's uncharacteristically quiet, especially considering he'd, for once, won the argument they'd had standing in the hall after they'd checked in earlier that night. Gabriel had expected him to gloat, but the man had just stormed off and slammed the door to his room shut behind him.  
"Can I come in?" MacCready finally asks, still not looking at him.  
Gabriel hesitates, caught off-guard by the fact that there was a question at _all_, that he hadn't just wordlessly barged into his room and then promptly demanded... well, _whatever_ it was he was here for. It would have been easier. He sighs. Then, slowly, he silently steps aside to let the man in.  
MacCready gingerly closes the door behind himself as he steps into the room, turns the lock until it clicks shut. There's a moment of silence as they both just stand there, hazy shapes eyeing each other in the darkness. "I was wondering if you wanted to fuck," he finally says.  
"God," Gabriel says. And then, "Jesus, Daniel. It's fucking two in the morning."  
MacCready shrugs awkwardly, shoulders tensed. "Look-"  
"You _woke me up_."  
"Jeez. Well, _excuse me_." MacCready turns his head, gaze fixed somewhere in the direction of the carpeted floor. "Look, I'm-" He pauses, working at his lower lip with his teeth. "I'm having a fucking shit night here, okay. So either you want to help me out here or-"  
Gabriel bites back an incredulous bark of a laugh. "You're fucking kidding me. You wake me up in the _middle_ of the goddamn _night_ because your fucking dick isn't letting you sleep-"  
"Hey, fuck off-"  
"You _do_ know you can jack it on your own, right?"  
MacCready's mouth twists into a grimace. "You could've just said no," he snaps.  
"I'm not saying _no_," Gabriel says, because at this point it doesn't look like he's getting back to sleep either way, and _fuck_ if the sudden mental image of MacCready with a hand around his own cock isn't putting him into _some_ sort of a mood. Mostly a bad one, but _still_. He knows he's going to regret it, but that's a problem for later. "I'm just. You know. Saying." He folds his arms over his chest. "You're acting weird."  
"The fuck is _that_ supposed to mean."  
"Nothing." Gabriel tilts his head to the side, gauging reaction. "You look like you got a problem."  
MacCready tenses, hands balled into fists at his sides. He jerks his head, just an inch to the side and then back, like he can't decide where he wants to look. He settles for glaring at the floor. "I don't want to talk about it."  
Gabriel snorts. "Good. I wasn't asking if you wanted to talk about it. I was just saying you sounded like you had one."  
There's another pause. MacCready, for his part, just stands there looking miserable, mouth working like he has something to say, thumb of his left hand rubbing, absently but with some sort of urgency to the motion, against the tops of his fingers. Gabriel is hit with a sudden stab of disgust, the feeling just barely to the left of disappointment and so close to pity that the thought makes his blood run cold. The man is pitiful, yes, but certainly not deserving of pity, certainly his few moments of- at least superficial- weakness are to be treated as victories, however small, and not- right now, Daniel MacCready doesn't even look like a man worth being mean to. This observation frightens him, because- it is not the fact that he should be capable of making it in the first place, but that the thought would be phrased like that, some sort of implication of if not sympathy then at least understanding- he had promised himself, years ago now- _God, how long has it_ been_?_\- that he would not allow himself to care, that he would not permit himself even the slightest shred of empathy, not the smallest human kindness. One rule, one rule only, rocketing past _pride _or _dignity _into the lowest possible bottom line. One rule he'd managed to keep. _What's left, _he wonders, _If I can't even hate him anymore?_  
MacCready crosses the tiny room and lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, thoughtlessly twists a hand into the bedsheets. "Yes or no," he asks flatly.  
There's a faint orange glow seeping in through the lowered blinds covering the room's one window, and Gabriel suddenly realises the man is barefoot but otherwise fully clothed, though his tie is gone and his shirt is crumpled and no longer tucked into his pants. He's immediately glad he's well past feeling any sort of awkwardness in these situations, because he himself is only wearing a worn-out T-shirt and briefs. "Whatever," he says. "Yeah, sure. Fuck it, I guess."  
  
Gabriel lets MacCready strip on his own this time around, doesn't even really watch him undress. Maybe just a glance in his direction when he swears quietly, a sudden shake in his hands making him struggle with undoing the buckle of his belt, but it's more an instinctive reaction to the sound than any actual interest. Somehow, it's just not as fun to watch when he already knows what's underneath. Instead, he flips open his suitcase and roots around for a box of condoms and the bottle of lube he _knows _he has in there _somewhere_... The bottle comes up fine but the condoms take a while to locate, long enough for MacCready to finally squeeze out of his pants and underwear and sit back, now fully naked, on the bed. He meets Gabriel's eyes for a split second, then his gaze flickers to the suitcase. "Don't bother," he says.  
"You're not fucking me without a condom," Gabriel answers flatly.  
MacCready shrugs. "I'll let you fuck me."  
"I'm not fucking _you _without a condom either," Gabriel retorts. "That's gross."  
"Oh, you think _that's_ gross-"  
"Shut up." Gabriel finds what he's looking for and slams the suitcase back closed, then pulls himself up onto the bed. MacCready doesn't offer to help him undress either- not that there's much to take off- but he can feel the man's eyes on him, a hungry gaze sliding over his face, down his throat and over his chest as he moves. He feels, somehow, subtly flattered.  
Gabriel pulls off his briefs and for a single, painful moment he's aware of how awkwardly naked they both are, sitting across from each other on the motel bed. MacCready has his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped protectively around his bare legs. He looks almost disturbingly vulnerable, _would_ look, at least, if not for the strange expression on his face, pale eyes half-lidded and teeth worrying at his lower lip. "Come here," he says, quietly.  
Gabriel swings his legs up onto the bed, moves until he's on his knees, close enough that he can almost feel the heat of the other man's body, close enough to touch but still not touching, a tension between them that he is, for a moment, afraid to break. He's a good two heads taller in this position, not that it's much of an achievement, MacCready sitting half-heartedly propped up against the headboard of the bed, not making much of an effort to keep himself from sliding down. Gabriel considers his options.  
"You're letting me fuck you," he says, as if phrasing it like that would make it a statement instead of a question.  
MacCready shrugs, then lets his arms drop to his sides. "If you want. I don't care."  
"You don't-" Gabriel shakes his head disbelievingly. "What is _with_ you today?"  
MacCready makes some sort of nonspecific noise at the back of his throat. He looks away, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You want it or not?" He asks roughly, annoyance rising in his voice. Somehow, _that's_ the thing that makes Gabriel twitch, heat pooling in his gut. _Annoyed _works, he thinks. _Frustrated_ works. _Anything_ works, really, except for the weirdly miserable... whatever it was that MacCready had been pulling off today. He doesn't know what to do with that, doesn't know how to react to the man apparently being capable of an emotion besides "horny" and "pissed off".  
"Yeah, sure." He says. "Whatever."  
MacCready doesn't react as he places a hand against the inside of his leg at knee-height, allows him to, almost gently, push it aside, lets him move forward, just a little into the now-open space between his legs. He's already half-hard and his clenched hands, twisted into the coarse fabric of the bedsheets, are white-knuckled, but other than that he barely seems to respond- save, maybe, for the tiny shiver that runs through him when Gabriel slides his hand down to press against the inside of his thigh.  
Gabriel reaches across to grab the bottle of lube off the nightstand where he'd set it down, pops open the cap with a thumb. "Spread your legs," he says, bluntly.  
MacCready makes a face, mouth twitching, but does as he's told, shifting to make himself more comfortable as he moves. He glances up as Gabriel squirts a generous amount of lube onto his palm. "You going to warm that up, or-?" He asks. "For the sake of civility."  
"Wasn't planning on it." Gabriel sets aside the bottle and settles back onto his haunches, sitting squarely between MacCready's legs. "This might be a little cold."  
"Oh, _fuck_ y-" MacCready breaks off as Gabriel presses into him, two fingers, and the last word comes out as a strangled groan. "_Shit_," he follows up as soon as he's able to speak again. "You fucking asshole. That was fucking _cold_." He doesn't say anything after that, though, because Gabriel starts to _move_, fingers in-and-out in short, regular thrusts. MacCready groans, not nearly as quietly as he _definitely_ could have, chasing sensation with an experimental roll of his hips. He reaches down between them with one hand, wraps it around himself. Makes the same noise as before, but this time markedly louder.  
Gabriel feels his face heating, but it doesn't stop his own dick from twitching in response to the sound, every time surprised anew at how embarassingly unselfconscious the man is about making _noise_. He's almost certain it's only because the idiot _knows_ how much it bothers him, knows how humiliating he finds the thought that someone else might _hear_\- the thought distracts him, just for a moment, but long enough for him to lose his rythm.  
MacCready grunts. "What, you tired already?"  
"Shut up," Gabriel snaps. "If you kept quiet, this wouldn't happen."  
"Aww, don't pretend you don't _like_ it, _a-ah_-" The man breaks off into a whimper as Gabriel pulls out and away. "Hey, come on-"  
"Nope. I'm done." Gabriel swings his legs over the side of the bed, finds the floor with his feet. "You ruined it. Get out."  
"_Hey_-" MacCready pulls himself upright, sounding disoriented and hurt. "Come on, what the fuck, I only-"  
"Jesus, _easy_." Gabriel snickers, the sound more a sharp exhale than an actual laugh. "I'm fucking with you. I just need to get a condom on."  
MacCready groans, this time not in a sex way. "I fucking hate you."  
Gabriel feels an involuntary smile tug at the corners of his lips, a smile he immediately forces back down. "For once, I can tell you the feeling is mutual."  
  
When he climbs back onto the bed, Gabriel doesn't waste any more time messing around. He settles back into place between MacCready's legs, but this time he pulls the man closer, thighs against his, lifts his hips just a few inches off the bed. It's not terribly comfortable, but it works, and for once Gabriel doesn't even mind that they're facing each other. It's easier when he's the one in control.  
MacCready exhales shakily, more turned-on than he'd like to admit by how easily Gabriel just moves him around, wordlessly getting him into the position he needs. He wraps his legs around the small of Gabriel's back, feels arousal spike through him as the man leans fowards and over him, propping himself up on muscular arms, his hands pressing into the mattress on either side of MacCready's shoulders.  
Gabriel lifts up one hand and lowers it between them, positioning himself, and MacCready shudders as he feels the man's dick finally press up against his ass. "Fuck," he says, quietly, the word barely more than an exhale. Gabriel takes a slow, deep breath, and then, in a single, fluid motion, he presses himself deep inside him.  
MacCready makes a strangled noise deep in his throat, back arching. "_Fuck_," he says again, louder this time, head thrown back.  
Gabriel doesn't say anything, can't say anything, just thrusts into him roughly, jaw set and teeth clenched to keep even the smallest shred of sound from coming out. He feels, suddenly, deeply sick, some sort of angry disgust cutting through the haze of arousal, a disgust whose target he is somehow unable to locate.  
MacCready bucks his hips up into the motion, matching the rythm, and he's rewarded when Gabriel lets out a single, sharp hiss. "So-" he manages, between the moments that feel like the air is being knocked out of his lungs, "You _can_ feel this after all?" He's so hard it practically _hurts_, so desperate that his voice cracks on the last syllable, breaking off.  
"Shut up," Gabriel says, voice low and rough.  
"Oh, _ah- _come _on_-" MacCready feels, just a little, just the tinest bit overwhelmed. It wasn't that he hadn't had sex in a while- _fine, maybe not from this end_\- but- Gabriel was _big_, and he was _not_ being gentle. "_Christ._ Would it kill you to admit you're, _fuck,_ you're _enjoying_ something for once? I mean-"  
The hand that wraps around his throat nearly knocks the wind out of him, the motion carrying enough force behind it to knock his head back.  
"I said, shut the _fuck_ up," Gabriel growls. "And stay still."  
MacCready shuts up and stays still.  
He comes first just a short moment later, with a whimper that's cut off by the hand still firm against his windpipe, not enough to actually choke but definitely more than enough to be a _very_ tangible threat. The haze still hasn't worn off when Gabriel finishes soon after, and he doesn't realise it's over until the man pulls out and the pressure disappears from his neck, and suddenly he's _not_ being pressed back into the mattress with enough force to make the bedsprings creak. He's alone on the bed, and suddenly, maybe for the first time in his life, he feels terribly, desperately lonely.  
There's a grunt from somewhere above him and off to his right, and MacCready turns his head to locate the sound. Gabriel is returning -_already?_\- from the tiny bathroom attached to the room, and he tosses a towel at him. "Clean yourself up," he says flatly. "Then get out. I want to get some sleep."


End file.
